


Secrets/Segreti

by theLiterator, Traxits



Series: Zevran/Alistair 'verse [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair has had something on his mind lately, and he thinks Zevran might be the person with the best advice. Later, Zevran recognizes someone in the marketplace</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets/Segreti

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Traxits for writing the first 500 or so words of this. Granted, I changed some of it around, but all of that gold at the beginning? Hers.

The city was bustling as the two of them walked through the marketplace, and Alistair seemed to be soaking it all up. A small smile curved Zevran's lips as he watched his new companion, and then he too turned his attentions to the nearby locals. They were there to purchase some new equipment, things that all of them sorely needed. Leliana's bracers were beginning to dent just by touching them, let alone absorbing any sort of blow, and Morrigan's robes were rapidly devolving to the point where even she was refusing to walk anywhere in them.

Alistair was holding onto their purse, and Zevran felt like it was only prudent to stick close to him. After all, it wouldn't do to let some pickpocket make away with all of their money. He was sure that the others would be quite put out by that turn of events. He wasn't, however, exactly prepared for the other man to hesitate outside of one of the first taverns they saw, or for him to duck inside, barely sparing the elf a glance before he did.

Zevran followed him, keeping close even though at midmorning the tavern was hardly crowded.

Alistair casually stacked some coin on the edge of the table he chose, attracting the attention of the nearest serving girl. Everyone else averted their eyes, as was custom in a tavern.

The girl was pretty enough, and as she pocketed the coin, Zevran slid into the chair across from the templar, his gaze cutting across the room once before returning to his companion. Admittedly, while seemed a little odd, he had no way of knowing whether or not it was normal. He hadn't been with them all that long. Two mugs were settled on the table, and then she was gone, a quick smile signaling her disappearance to serve others in the tavern.

His hand lightly wrapped around the handle, but he didn't drink, instead content to simply hold it as he watched the templar. Alistair seemed to count-- he actually counted to three under his breath-- and then he tossed his mug back. From the sputtering cough that followed, Zevran had the feeling that he'd never _actually_ done it before. His motions came from seeing others do it. The elf hid a little smile behind his mug as he cautiously took a sip.

Zevran watched as Alistair fidgeted with the mug for a few long moments before he broke the silence.

"Is there something on your mind?" he asked.

Alistair shook his head, frowning at his empty mug.

Zevran nodded, took another sip from his mug. They were all allowed their secrets

But those secrets weren't being kept very well if, after another mug and a half, they were allowed to begin spilling out. Zevran had really only just settled down when Alistair leaned forward, looking at him strangely. It was ... conspiratorial.

"I... I have a question." He was plowing ahead, the Antivan recognized, sitting up and leaning a little forward himself. This was interesting. "You said that this was a coup." The templar nodded to himself slowly, repeating the word once, and Zevran nodded with him, letting him know that he did still think that. Alistair hesitated, and as the assassin watched-- most intrigued at the way his throat worked when he swallowed-- he asked softly, "Is it better for someone of the bloodline to come forward and say 'Stop this coup!' or should anyone who might be, for instance, a bastard half-brother of the former king, stay hidden and quiet?"

Zevran folded his hands neatly on the table, abandoning the ale. It would not do to allow this conversation to pass without careful consideration.

"I once participated in a coup," he said after a few moments of thought. "Prince Azrin. He wanted power. We were hired to keep it from him."

Alistair nodded again.

"But as for your question, well, this is Ferelden. I am hardly privy to the delicate workings of Fereldan politics. My first instinct, however, is no. Revealing oneself as a bastard of the blood would simply paint a target on one's head."

Alistair frowned and reached for Zevran's mug too. At the last moment he stopped, glancing at Zevran. Zevran waved his permission. While he would prefer Alistair to have most of his wits about him while they were attempting to be discreet in Denerim, this conversation would be much easier with Alistair pleasantly... ah... lubricated.

"On the other hand, say that this royal bastard were already at risk in this coup? Perhaps from some other angle? Then, his revealing himself as the rightful heir might, in fact, be of some benefit. It would really depend on what the claimant's goals were."

Alistair frowned at him. "Goals?"

Zevran frowned. "Goals. What he wishes to gain from the act of revealing himself. For instance, an army. If there were, how might I put this... external problems as well as the internal conflicts brought about by the coup that required an army. A claimant, properly announced and carefully protected, could easily get many dissatisfied landowners to march under his banner. Especially in Ferelden, where the freemen are free to swear fealty to whomever they like."

Alistair cast his gaze down, staring at the scarred wood between them. "I... I see, I suppose."

"On the other hand," Zevran said quietly, tiring of this game abruptly. "You should wait and see if the treaties pan out. Perhaps your Arl Eamon will have a better plan. He has been immersed in Fereldan politics his whole life. He will have far sounder advice than a bloodthirsty Antivan, I am sure."

"I'm not-- I mean, I don't..." Alistair stuttered, surprised and defensive.

Zevran patted his hand. "It is alright. I am not in the business of sharing secrets." He paused to consider a moment. "Unless, of course, it is my life on the line."

Alistair turned his hand over under Zevran's to squeeze it. "Thank you," he said, and he sounded sincere. Zevran flashed a smile.

"We had supplies to purchase, did we not?"

***

Alistair allowed Zevran to pull him out to the gloom of the tavern into the bright, loud market. He had only rarely been around so many people at once, and it was all so distracting.

He knew they had to stay low, keep themselves out of sight of the local guard and anyone who might be looking for him, but he wanted to look around. So many things for sale, so much to _do!_

He felt Zevran freeze beside him, so he came to a halt as well, casting a concerned glance over at his companion. Zevran was staring at one of the stalls, his expression completely blank.

"Hey," he began, ready to ask what was wrong, but Zevran started off in the direction of the stall, and Alistair was helpless to do anything but follow.

Alistair realized, as they approached, that it sold imported goods, delicate crafts and exotically shaped armor. It took him a moment longer to notice that they were Antivan. Perhaps Zevran wanted a differently fitted cuirass?

Then, the merchant running the stall backhanded Zevran. Zevran reeled with the force of it, staggering slightly to keep his balance, but did not, Alistair noticed, make a sound.

"What are you doing?' he shouted at the merchant, one hand going to his sword, the other reaching to steady Zevran, who did not, of course, need steadying.

Zevran held up one hand in command, and the merchant said something incomprehensible, liquid and poetic sounding.

When Zevran responded curtly, with equally incomprehensible words, Alistair realized he was hearing Antivan. He allowed his sword to settle back in its scabbard.

"No," Zevran said, and with a sort of deliberate flourish, he turned his back on the merchant. Alistair glared at him, daring him to do _anything_ to them, but the man merely smiled and saluted.

Alistair grabbed Zevran's arm and hauled him away, out of the crowded market and into a shaded alley.

"What in the name of Andraste was _that_?" he demanded.

Zevran shrugged out of his grip and stared defiantly up at him. "It was nothing of your concern," he said coldly.

"Nothing of my--but he..." Alistair stuttered for a few moments, shocked by Zevran's casual nonchalance. "He _hit_ you! For no reason!"

Zevran chuckled darkly. "I daresay he had reason to do more," he said, shaking his head.

"Wait, then... Who _was_ that? Like some sort of-of..." He floundered, struggling to think of the right words. "Crow boss guy?"

Zevran did not answer. He turned his head away, shoulders squared and defiant, and Alistair wondered if he thought Alistair would hit him too.

The thought made his gut churn.

"Come here," he ground out, trying not to let his temper get the better of him. The last thing any of them needed was for him to go running back into the square, sword out and demanding retribution. The goal was to remain unnoticed, after all. _Lay low and assemble an army._

Zevran flinched. It was the barest of movements, a flicker of his eyelids, a muscle twitch in his cheek.

Alistair ignored it, reached out to tilt Zevran's face back the other way. He ran his fingers lightly over Zevran's cheek, feeling the way it had already swollen. Zevran's lip bled from a small cut where it had split against a tooth.

Nothing serious, but there had been force, and intention, behind the injury, and Alistair didn't like the implications of that at all. He was no longer so certain Zevran had been exaggerating the reaction the Crows might have regarding his failure.

Alistair let Zevran go, as there was nothing he could do for the injury. He sighed, tucking Zevran's hair back behind his ears before stepping away.

Zevran's face was still that expressionless mask, but his fingers were twitching at his sides. Alistair realized he had no idea who this elf before him was, not really.

"Maestro," Zevran said, voice even and steady. "Master. Not mine, well, not... officially. But one of only a few who mine trusted. Who he is exactly is rather unimportant right now."

Alistair had a feeling that Zevran had a completely different definition of trust from him. He didn't think it mattered right now though.

"Anything we need to worry about?" he asked instead. Zevran looked at him, just looked, for a few long moments.

Then, "No," he said quietly. Alistair nodded.

"Come on, then," he said, taking another step away. He was pretty sure touching Zevran earlier without his permission had been a mistake, and he didn't want to repeat it. He simply walked away and hoped that Zevran would follow.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are love.


End file.
